Had to Get Away
by misfitnumber16
Summary: After seventh year, Hermione ran away. She just walked out of the platform and out of everyone’s lives. They didn’t know why she left or where she went. She just left. r


Had To Get Away

After seventh year, Hermione ran away. She just walked out of the platform and out of everyone's lives. They didn't know why she left or where she went. She just left. They knew she hadn't been kidnapped because there informant from Voldemort's side had seen no evidence of their intervention. Her parents didn't know where she had gone; they hadn't picked her up because she had owled them saying she would apparate. But she never showed up. Ever.

After the first hour, they were worried. The second, they called up Harry's owl, being the smart bird she was, and sent a note to Harry. He was shocked when he found the note and quickly waylaid a member of the order. They searched for weeks, Harry being the head of the entire operation. They didn't find a trace.

After nearly half a year, Harry became desperate. He was fanatical. He stormed into the headmaster's office, the same one he had last entered at Voldemort's demise with glory, and slammed his hands on the old man's desk. He glared intensely at his senior with suppressed rage and a small bit of helplessness. He spoke slowly and deliberately.

"You know where she is. I know you do, do not deny it. Just tell me where she is."

The man before him looked down with grief in his eyes. He leaned back in his throne-like chair and sighed. This whole ordeal had been murder on Harry, but also the wizened old man. He indeed did know what had happened to Hermione. He did _not_, of course, know where she was, but he knew why she left. He knew much about people that he did not disclose with anyone. He felt this was a secret he was obliged to keep for the brilliant young woman. For she was brilliant, of course. Who else had defied the Harry Potter when no one else could? She had single-handedly avoided Harry for six months, and it was hard to out smart the powerful man that Harry had become.

By keeping her secret, however, he was causing Harry so much harm. He was suffering. He had never known a time without the companionship of Hermione, unless it was before Hogwarts. He did not appreciate the amazing effect she had on him until now. And boy did he regret it.

He sometimes wondered if it had been him that had pushed her away. Since the defeat of Voldemort, he had been slightly withdrawn. Nothing like fifth year's disaster, however, though it was difficult. Ron had recently commenced a relationship with Luna Lovegood, however unlikely it seemed a while back. When he began spending time with his lady love, Harry and Hermione had grown closer. After the war, though, he spaced a bit, and she was left with no one. She was alone. And it showed.

The rest of the school saw she was driving herself into a hole. She was the kind of person that respected the needs of her friends, and what they called for was space. Ron wanted to spend time with Luna without interruption and Harry needed time to think. So Hermione was all by herself. Yet she bore it. She did not gripe and groan as many would. She acted like everything was okay. Heck, she even did Harry's homework when he neglected it, something she never did. Lupin, the newly instated DADA teacher, even pulled Harry aside when it became too much. Of course this was not a good move. He blew up at him and clearly stated for him to give him some kind of freedom that was taken away by the blasted prophecy. The end of the year came soon though, and they planned to deal with it from then on.

But they didn't get that far.

Hermione disappeared.

Dumbledore looked up at Harry, shaking his head.

"No, I do not know where she is. I am sorry."

This did it for Harry. The one person who always had answers, one who always could solve your problems, besides Hermione, was failing him.

Harry broke down in sobs. He crumbled to the floor, head in hands, and wept for his loss.

"What have I done?" could be mutely heard.

The man behind the desk stood, walked to the boy, and placed a hand upon his shoulder. He let his own tear fall gently down his cheek, mourning for the boy and the girl.

Hermione had been gone for five years. Five whole years without any kind of contact with the life she knew.

And she was forlorn about it too. She hadn't told anybody so she couldn't get any letters. She lived in an entirely different country so she couldn't find out what they were up to. She couldn't even get up the courage to contact them.

And she hated herself for it. She blamed herself. Why wouldn't she, she was the one who disappeared anyways.

But she couldn't go back.

Not now at least.

They would accuse her. They would hate her for leaving them, for walking away. She wanted anything but that. But that was all she would receive. There was no way out.

Hermione had a nice life where she was. She lived in the United States, New York to be exact. She worked as a writer of fiction novels, under an alias of course. To the common American, she was Bella Leon, not Hermione Granger. She had produced about three novels that had sold reasonably well, so as to get her to a point where she was known among various book clubs and had been awarded best seller by the New York Times once. She refused to enclose photos on the jackets of her books, though, for fear of being recognized. She knew she was already taking a huge risk by even entering the career she had chosen. If anyone got hold of one of her photos and put her face to a name, she could be done for. This always kept her on edge.

She didn't go out in public much. Nope, she preferred to remain at home, working on her latest novel. She was closing up the last chapter that day, in fact. She bound and shipped the manuscript to her editor, Steve, feeling satisfaction, a rare thing nowadays.

This novel was about her childhood. She knew she could not put into writing the actual events, but she formatted them to a muggle life-style and presto, a lovely book to publish. It was so lovely, in fact, the publisher had very few discrepancies to point out to her. He speedily sent it back within a couple of days, asking for a signature, signifying the permission to print. It was all ready at the printers.

Hermione took her time in signing the document. She felt there was something different about this one. She felt this could be her undoing, the unravelment of her secret. That, of course, was unacceptable. But in the end, Hermione told herself she was being paranoid. She had no reason to fear. There would be no way anyone could link Bella Leon to Hermione Granger. It just wasn't possible. Or plausible…

With in two months, however, Hermione was on pins and needles again. Not only had her book exceeded her editor's expectations, but also the country's. She grew to nation wide fame. The book was a cherished item in homes and thousands were still buying. Hermione was asked to do radio station interviews, guest appearances on news programs, and speaker at prestigious events.

But she couldn't do it. Being famed for her book was entirely too much as it was. To be seen in public was absolute suicide. She avoided all the pictures she could, but it was impossible to escape the media. She used disillusionment spells left and right to distract photographers, but this only made them that more interested. They were all so curious about the author who spent days at a time locked up in her flat in New York. People who knew her were being questioned lots, and though they appreciated the business in their stores, it became overwhelming.

Hermione just kept holding out for the passing of all the attention.

It seemed it would never come.

She just hoped she hadn't slipped up yet.

Hermione stood behind the curtains of her living room, looking out at the empty sidewalk before her, never so thankful in her life. Just days ago, photographers had stood there, lounging with their cameras, waiting for her to come out. They were gone now, though. She could have her peace again. She figured that by the lack of figures from her past, they had neither heard, nor cared, about Hermione from the book fiasco. She felt at ease again.

Her first venture that week was to the coffee house down the road, home to her first friend in America, Josie. Hermione had arrived in the airport of New York, disheveled and alone, and needed a warm cup of tea. Of course, she forgot that Americans drank coffee, not tea. She, on much conviction from Josie, received her first cup of joe in that very building. Now, however, she almost always took a quick stroll down there to have a quick chat with Josie and her chipped mug of caffeinated chocolate, coffee for short.

She always chose a seat in the back. She could sometimes sit and type on her laptop, working on her latest work. The people coming in and out gave her inspiration, whether they spoke or not. Just to have a friendly face nearby was comforting in a city of strangers. She could credit her entire second novel to the place, without hesitation. It would always be her favorite place in the city: Josie's Cuppa.

Today, she went straight to her table to wait for Josie. She felt terrible about the mess she had created. Josie had been questioned time and time again on the subject of her to many reporters and knew Josie would not appreciate it. Neither did she. She decided to get her a small gift to show her appreciation or call a truce.

It was a hand-painted coffee mug, with an emblem featuring the shop's name with a colorful design. She would even offer to make more if she would accept her apology.

Josie approached the table minutes later with a pot in hand. She quickly set about to pour Hermione a cup. Then she looked up at Hermione with a stern lip.

"I thought you had poisoned yourself trying to make your own coffee."

That did it. Hermione was sent into hysterics, bending over with her hand vaguely trying to cover her wide mouth. Josie got in a couple chuckles before asking, "Where you been, missy. We missed you here at the house." Josie often referred to the coffee shop as the "house" affectionately.

"Urgh, I am so sorry about that. Those reporters had me barricaded in my apartment, and I was avoiding them but they didn't go away. It was awful. I meant to call you to, but I didn't want to make it worse for you. I can already imagine how much they've bothered you. Please forgive me?" Hermione held up the mug above her head like a little child would be, as if she were offering peace.

"Oh, dear, you mustn't be sorry. In fact, they've given me quite a bit of business. I knew that most every writer loved coffee, but not this much. They quadrupled my tips from just one week compared to a month! But I will keep the cup, if you don't mind. My, it is lovely. Did you make this yourself?" Hermione nodded.

"I didn't know if you would hate me or not."

"Oh, sweetie, nothing you could do could make me hate you, trust me. So, how have you been? I can imagine all these photos have you panicked?"

A while back, after knowing Josie for two months, she had finally divulged as to why she abruptly showed up in New York. Josie was sympathetic with the poor little duckling, still a teenager, and Hermione was constantly reminded of Molly Weasley, though the thought of her caused more hurt. She was thankful for the understanding she got from Josie. She didn't mention any names or the presence of magic. Josie didn't question much and provided support.

"You have no idea. They were literally camped out on my lawn! If I had known this was going to happen, I would have never submitted that book. I should have known!" Hermione wailed as she buried her head in her arms on the table. Josie rubbed her shoulder for a moment.

"No one tried to contact you or anything, did they?" she asked tentatively.

"Nope, not yet. I was reluctant to even come out of there again, so afraid of seeing someone."

"Would it really be that bad, though? I mean, you, honey, look terrible! It would do you some good to go back there, even for a visit! I worry about you, sweetie. I don't see why it would be so bad to go back," Josie mothered. She had brought this up several times her first two years, but this was the first in a long time.

"Josie!" Hermione whined. "I thought we had gotten over this! They would all _hate _me! I abandoned them. They don't even know that I was planning on leaving! They have no idea where I am! They don't have a clue as to why, I'm assuming! It would only hurt me more than it already is, and it would hurt them. I know I can't take it. And I'm fine with just staying here. Everything is going fine, and I won't go back. It's just to painful," she finished weakly. She knew Josie wouldn't mention it anymore after that. She could already tell by the way she avoided her eyes and cleaned off the table with her hands. She was sorry to blow up at Josie like that, but she knew she would badger, otherwise.

"Well, I doubt anyone will find out anymore. This thing is dying down so you shouldn't have to deal with it much longer."

"Thanks, Josie." Hermione answered, though muffled.

Josie glanced into the opposite corner and said, "I've got to go serve some more customers, call me if you need me." She walked off to the corner and leaned over, talking to one of the customers.

Hermione waved to her as she left then slumped back down onto the table. She spun her coffee cup around on the table, thinking about her life. She missed her old life dearly. Nothing was the same here. Heck, they didn't even have tea. She had once thought about taking a vacation to London, but never went through with it. Yet again, her fear got a hold on her, and she chickened out.

Josie came back over fifteen minutes later after serving the business crowd. Hermione announced she was going to go back to her flat and brainstorm for her next book. She didn't want to be homeless in the city, so she had to keep up with the writing. She gave a wave and left through the glass door.

Just a couple blocks down from the "house" was her apartment. It was a must when she first came to the city. She had stayed in a hotel her first few days, living off of money from her summer job. She had always kept it with her in case she was in need of it. She had walked to the airport and boarded a cheap plane to America with her passport and cried the whole way there.

She had searched and searched for a place to stay for days before coming upon the little beauty. It had once belonged to an artist who had decided to move out of the country, coincidentally, she was moving to London. They had bargained, the artist offered to leave her furniture if Hermione could provide her with the info she needed to get started in London. With a little slip up in her tale, Hermione accidentally let loose that she was a witch. This was actually a relief to the artist for she too was a witch. Hermione, relieved that she hadn't made a fatal mistake, recounted for the artist/witch, how to approach the wizarding side of London, for Diagon Alley wasn't the easiest place to find. They shared all this over a cup of coffee, and when they left, they left with something gained.

The most wonderful part about buying the house was the uniqueness of the scenery. The artist, it seemed, loved to do art with both paint and sculpture. It made for an interesting apartment for sure. Her bedroom was painted a rich red with gold detail, reminding her constantly of Gryffindor's colors, often with heartache. Her kitchen was a warm purple, and her bathroom, a cornflower yellow. In the living room, a large sculpture of a flame crawled upon the wall, colored accordingly. Hermione enjoyed inviting friends from the university she was attending, to come over and have study groups. The first half an hour was usually spent touring the rooms. She was quite pleased with the attention, too.

She walked up the stone steps onto a platform where the large oak door stood. She found out the security in the building was tight, but it made her feel safer. She unsheathed a key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock. She turned it and pushed her way into the building. The first thing she noticed was the common sack of mail from fans that had been set aside by the mailman. During the past week, she had become good friends with him as they met in the foyer one day. He had remarked at how much mail she was receiving, and she was remarking about how reading that had to be done. They had a few laughs before he was off again to deliver the mail to the other buildings. She did indeed feel sorry for him. The strain on his back must be killing him.

She let out a soft chuckle before grabbing the bag and throwing it over her shoulder. She hobbled under the weight of the bag over to the old fashioned elevator in the end of the hallway. The tin grate looked intricate with the leaf patterned holes burned into it. She grate slid back and she stepped into the tiny boxed room and pressed "4" on the panel. She was on the top floor and loved it. She really could have owned the entire building if she cared to, but she liked having neighbors, even if they weren't always agreeable. She had her fair share of disagreeable neighbors of course. There was Mr. Brows. What a nightmare he was! Often complained to management about the ungodly hours at which she sometimes arrived home, which only happened once. She was glad to be rid of that tenant but gave him a good luck present all the same. She wasn't heartless.

All the time, that was.

She still felt terrible about …

The elevator clanged to a stop on the highest floor, Hermione stepped out into the deserted corridor. She was the only one on her floor, and loved every minutes of it. At the end of the hallway was a window seat. It was the loveliest view one could hope for. True, it did look out on the gray and industrialist city, but it was beautiful in its own way. The sunset was as breathtaking as if she were standing on the crest of a rolling hill in Ireland. She loved to sit in there, with a book often, and just read or think. If she was uninterested in it, she could look out on the people, laughing when they did something hilarious when they thought no one was watching. It was a game all in its own.

She walked up to her own door, the dark green one with the steel handle. It looked like something one would see on the door to a mansion. It was beautiful all the same.

She again inserted a key and turned the lock, hearing it click after two seconds. She gave a shove and sunshine reflecting off her hardwood floors gleamed up at her. She set the bag down beside the door and closed it behind her. Her coat and purse were hung on the coat rack on the side, and she meandered into her kitchen. She reached up and grabbed a glass and filled it with water. She went and sat at her 50's table. She had no idea what to do now. She just finished a book and should be allowed a grace period from writing she figured. Other than that, she had nothing to do with her life. She couldn't just go out with her friends, because she didn't have any. Being a writer made her a recluse. Her only friend was Josie, and she went to the house to see her. She did have Crookshanks though. She couldn't forget her lovely cat now could she.

She decided to take out her laptop and just preview some of the news from back home. This was the only way she could get basic knowledge of her homeland. She would search the net for newspapers and websites from home and check out what was happening. She even found a wizarding website for the Daily Prophet. She had marked so she wouldn't loose it. She didn't want that to happen.

She previewed the page. Not much was new. A new store was being opened in Hogsmeade. Oh, wait, it was one of Fred and George's shops. She was really proud of them. She had never expected they could get that far. She half thought about sending an anonymous congratulations present. She would have to charm it to forget its sender, however. She put that thought aside.

She came across a very interesting piece of work, however, in the FYI section. Apparently, her Harry had been offered a face on the chocolate frog cards. She wasn't surprised, however, when she found that he had declined. She knew he didn't want, nor need, the additional attention he would be getting by it. She scanned the rest of the page but had not found any more on her boys and her friends. She sighed, closed her computer and left the room. She walked into the living room to see her lazy cat sleeping in the sun from the large window. She grinned, sneaked up to him, and tickled his stomach. He jumped out of his slumber and looked wearily at his master. He gave an annoyed purr and laid back down. He was asleep within seconds, however, so Hermione just laughed and went on her way to the bedroom.

To get the bedroom, one must climb the spiral staircase. It was the most wonderful feature of the house in Hermione's opinion. She always had a love for those staircases and had always wanted one of her own. She jogged up the stairs and into the bedroom. She immediately ran and jumped into the comfy bed, happy to be rid of the whole controversy surrounding her book and the need to be kept private. She smiled into her pillow. She felt as if she could lie there all day.

But she didn't.

Instead, she got and walked over to her bookshelf. Another part of the deal was the possession of the books. The artist was afraid she would have to take with her or get rid of the books dealing with magic. When it was revealed that she was selling to a fellow witch, she readily turned over the books. She had no need or want of them anymore and Hermione was all too happy to take them off her hands. She perused the titles for a moment, before picking out a classic muggle novel. She loved to be educated in all sorts of literature, especially muggle fiction. She traced over the title with her finger: The Lord of the Rings. It was a fanciful tale, no doubt, but it did have mention of wizards, though no witches. She opened her door, slid down the railing of her stairs, and jumped out into the living room. She grabbed a pillow and a drink and took them out into the hallway window. She settled down as she usually would and began to read.

It would be a good day.

It would be a successful day for another.

The next morning followed much the same pattern. Hermione got out of bed and peered out of her kitchen window, searching the area for any sign of a photographer. When she was satisfied that they had all lost interest in her apartment because of her lack of activity, she changed out of her bed clothes and into some jeans and a jacket. She grabbed her purse, pet Crookshanks for a few seconds, then took off through the door. She headed down to Josie's like she always did. She took the time to glance up at the buildings now and again. They were beautiful, just weathered like that. She focused back on the sidewalk as she approached the house with the giant coffee cup on it. She smiled.

A bell chimed as she strode in the door and took a look around. Not very many people were present, and he table was free as always. She gladly sat down and waited patiently for Josie. She was curious and stuck up her head to see where she was. She saw her in the corner again. She looked up and saw Hermione and smiled. She said a few last words to the occupant of the booth and went to join her ever faithful patron.

"And how are you, missy? Recovered from your media frenzy I suppose?"

"Ahh, yes, yes I have. I couldn't live without your coffee Josie, you know that."

"Well, what can I say? I don't let my husband make the coffee."

They both let out a hearty chuckle, and she poured Hermione and herself a cup of the coffee. She took a sip and put the cup down. "I'm going to go tell Louis I'll be going on my break. I have no use for it later so never you mind," she said when Hermione protested.

"Fine, and tell him I said "hi" okay/"

" Oh, I will."

"Good."

She left and Hermione looked out the window. The sun was still breaking over the skyscrapers of the bustling city. It was quite a site.

At the sound of Josie's low-heeled shoes, Hermione, smiled up into the face of her one true friend. Josie smiled back down, but it was an uneasy smile.

"Josie, I don't like that look you are giving me. What are you up to?" asked a suspicious Hermione.

"Oh, its nothing. What about you, any different from yesterday?" she teased gently.

"Nope, nothing at all is amiss, though I can't say the same for you. So before you pretend to ease into what will most likely be a motherly scolding, lay it on me," Hermione said, wanting to know what had gotten into Josie's head this time.

"Well, you know, it has been quite a while since you got here, and I was thinking you should maybe take a trip back." Josie said all of this in a quiet, but unsure tone.

"Josie!" Hermione half pleaded, "I thought we got over this! I can't go back! I will be shunned for sure and I still can't take the thought of that. I just don't want to face any of it. That's why I left!"

"Well, dear, you can't pretend that you don't want to, even just a bit. You have enough money at the moment, and how do you know you will have another chance? I'm worried about what being away from home for too long will do to you. That's all I'm worried about," Josie countered back.

"I know, I know. Its just, I don't think that by going back, it could make things better. It would make things worse. But I will. One day. One day when I'm so old that they wont recognize me at all. But until then, I'm not going, okay?" Hermione gave a strained, longing stare at Josie, and she crumbled.

"Alright, I won't push it. Just you remember, never say I didn't tell you so. " Josie checked her watch and said, "Well, I've got to now, my break is up. Let me know if I can get you anything,"

"Thanks, Josie," Hermione said, forlorn. Josie got up and went over to the booth in the corner.

Hermione looked at the dregs of her coffee and swirled her cup around. She hated when Josie asked her to go home. She felt guilty for not taking her advice but also strained whenever she did. Every time, it would puncture the wound again. She put some money on the table, more then it had cost, and rose from the table. She gave a slight smile and wave to Josie before walking out. She took off for home again.

The next day, Hermione woke up feeling like she had a hangover. Hermione rarely drank, but she felt like she had swallowed an entire bottle of vodka. She rose out of bed with a pounding head ache and went straight for the medicine cabinet. She downed a couple pills and got dressed.

She really needed a coffee.

She took a quick shower and dove into her nice, warm clothes before sliding all the way down to the living room. A quick stop to get the purse and coat, per usual, and she was on her way to Josie's. She arrived in record time and was greeted almost instantaneously by the wonderful hostess. She smiling a fit and wouldn't say why. Hermione figured it was a new ingredient to the coffee though didn't comment.

She, infected by the good mood Josie was in, made her sit down with her and divulge her secret.

"You'll see, you'll see. I promise you, its something you will absolutely love. And no, I did not kidnap your cat and dress it up. I did that last year…"

Josie was in a really good mood.

"Well, I have to get back but stick around for awhile, maybe I can get you a free cup." Josie laughed as she left the table.

"After all these years, I deserve one!" Hermione yelled back, excitedly. She turned to the window, still in deep though on what had Josie in such a rosy mood. She snorted at her own joke. She sat for another five minutes before a disturbance on the other side of the table caused her to welcome Josie back.

"Come on, Josie, tell…" but her words were lost on her lips as she stared at the man before her.

"Harry!"

A/N: I luv cliff hangers. So much fun. But I'll update soon I promise. I know this story is kind of overused but I liked it and no one ever seemed to complete theirs so I made my own. I luv reviews so PLEASE tell me what you think. I will get into why Hermione left next chapter. I think it will only be a two part fanfic. Well, adios!


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